


Phoenix

by Fabelhaft (Blue_Blood_Monarch)



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Another Winter Soldierish Character, BAMF Pepper Potts, BAMF Tony Stark, Fem!Tony, Female Tony Stark, HYDRA sucks, Hurt Tony Stark, Hydra (Marvel), Not MCU compliant, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Oc is badass, One-Sided Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Past Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 09:50:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16637651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Blood_Monarch/pseuds/Fabelhaft
Summary: Toni Stark is reborn after the events of Civil War and won't let the Rogues of what is left of Hydra bring her down.___________________________________________The Merchant of Death had risen again, with a thirst for vengeance, for justice for herself and her family.No one hurt her family, her Rhodey, without paying the price. And she would happily burn Rogers and the world to sate the beast within her that craved the violence and bloodshed in which it had been borne.The world was a fool for underestimating Toni Stark.





	1. Protocol: Wipeout

Hydra was compromised. The Black Widow and Captain America had dumped everything online, for the world to see. Double agents, missions, mission reports-everything Hydra had ever recorded.

Now, they were reduced to scuttling around like vermin, so deep in the shadows that they were unable to reach out, or even see the light of the outside world.

Hydra had fallen, but it hadn't died.

The organisation still had one more card up its sleeve, one that would end the Avengers and allow it to rise again. This time, there would be no subtlety, no gentle, slow overtaking.

This time, they would raze the world and rule over what was left.

They would not make the same mistakes again.

Never again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Asset.” In the cold, wet air of the underground bunker, the snarl cracked like a whip. Eyes, full of anger, full of bitter hatred- the kind that consumed a man overtime, sucking out one’s compassion and empathy, everything that made them good, made them human, leaving behind nothing but a husk of pain and vengeance- narrowed as heavy footsteps neared, carrying a body closer to it.

Footsteps that echoed pain learnt long ago.

It's eyes remained empty, its dead gaze fixed ahead, refusing to so much as blink as the man stepped in front of it. “Hydra has been exposed.” Like a cancer; long overdue and much too late, the damage having already been done. Thin lips curled as the Hydra agent regarded the asset before him. “The Winter Soldier is compromised, and the other Assets have been eliminated.” Compromised. Gone. So, Hydra truly was nearing its end, if even the Soldier itself had abandoned ship. “Protocol: Wipeout has been initiated.”

The last remaining Asset’s eyes finally met those of the man stood before it. “Acknowledged.” Its voice was heavy and hoarse in a way that suggested years of disuse and abuse. The agent regarded the Asset, finding it somewhat lacking; recently awoken from its stint in cryostasis, its clothes (if they could be called that- it wasn't currently on a mission, so its usual armoured, combat clothes were gone, replaced with thin, transparent rags that did nothing to provide warmth) were soaked, dripping on the floor to an irregular beat, a small puddle forming at its feet, its hair long and unkempt, also dripping. Its skin, although always pale, was slightly blue, as it was still in the process of warming up. It was shivering and looked malnourished and underfed, bones visible where necessary muscle mass wasn't present. The agent was sure the Asset was strong- after all, it still possessed a decent muscle mass and had a Turkish/Japanese/German supersoldier serum concoction flowing through its veins, but it _looked_ weak. Pathetic. Overall, it looked nothing like the fearsome and intimidating weapon the low-level agent had expected when he had been ordered in to deliver the Asset its mission.

If this was Hydra’s last hope, then its odds didn't look to great.

Snarling, the Agent moved to turn on his heel, some small trace of humanity left within him set on edge by the Asset, by its dead gaze reminiscent of a shark’s, of its _emptiness_. Everyone knew that the Asset was nothing more than a void, a gaping chasm where humanity once sat. He was, unfortunately, stopped from his theatrical motion by a hand on his shoulder, its iron grip tight and cold. Pain flared from the touch, stimulating his flight or fight response, adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins.

Every fibre of his being was screaming at him, every instinct telling him that this _wasn't right._

His snarl dropped, blood drained from his face, and pure, solid fear seized his gut. “Asset?” He whimpered, eyes widening as the telltale _squelch_ echoed through the abandoned bunker- so loud, too loud- and pain consumed him, the epicentre in his stomach, mouth gaping, trying desperately, greedily, to suck in air. His eyes watered, tears streaming down his face as the blood pulsed from his knife wound. The Asset had stabbed him. “What have you done?!” he screamed, knees giving out, sinking to the floor.

It was so cold.

The Asset looked down at him, face still perfectly blank. “Enacting Protocol: Wipeout. The removal of any remaining non-prioritised agents and any and all remaining threats to Hydra.”

The agent laughed humorlessly, understanding dawning on his face. “Of course. Should have read the fine-print,” he muttered, clutching at his wound. “That's what I get for-” he coughed, gasping, as he lay there, in a steadily-growing pool of his own blood. Looking at the Asset one last time, his breathing stopped, eyes glazed over and he died.

The Asset felt nothing.

The protocol was in action.

Traitors had to be dealt with, and threats had to be neutralised. Its footsteps thudded heavily on the cold, bloodstained floor of the Hydra base as it made its way to the exit, pulling a gun from one of its holsters.

The biggest threat to Hydra right now, it knew, would be the Avengers. _Threat level 10; highly dangerous and top priority should Protocol: Wipeout be initiated._

The Asset just needed to locate them.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, in Wakanda, T’Challa was regretting everything. He had offered the Captain and his friends sanctuary in his country, in his _home_ , but, he couldn't help but feel like he had made a grave- disastrous- mistake.

 _Because you have_ , his panther snarled, voice heavy in his mind, weighed down by anger. _You brought outsiders to our_ home.

T’Challa sighed, rubbing his temples as he sat on his throne, recently returned from Siberia. He shuddered slightly as his mind turned to that bunker, to Barnes’ innocence, to how Stark had _attacked_ him, even though she _must_ have known that he wasn't a threat.

 _You know as well as I do that there must be an explanation for her actions,_ his panther reasoned. _Stark has shown that she is against harming innocents, and you_ know _that she shares your sympathies for Barnes._

T’Challa felt weary. _I don't know what to think, my friend_. He closed his eyes, groaning. He just knew that this was all going to give him a headache.

 _We will not know what happened in that bunker unless we talk to them_ , the Panther admitted reluctantly, displeased.

T’Challa bit his lip, thinking. _Indeed_. He had to admit that a part of him shared the Panther’s reluctance to approach the rogue Avengers. After all, not all of them shared Barnes’ innocence, and their actions caused far too many casualties.

His mind turned to Colonel Rhodes at the German airport, replaying his fall, how he curved almost elegantly- of course, his suit _was_ StarkTech after all, and nothing Stark created was less than elegant and incredible to witness- before colliding with the ground. He remembered how stark the contrast was between his silver suit and the grass, which was so green and so different to the grass of the Wakandan plains. He remembered Stark’s cries, her begs for her friend- her brother- to be okay.

But he wasn't, was he? The last T’Challa heard, Colonel Rhodes was still in a coma with suspected paralysis. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he made a mental note to check in with Stark on his progress.

No. The Rogues were far from innocent. After all, it was their actions that led to the events of the airport.

The ‘Civil War’ as it was dubbed.

T’Challa rubbed a hand along his face. Perhaps he should check in with Stark to make sure _she_ was okay, that she had gotten back from the Siberian bunker alright. Even if she had harmed Rogers and Barnes. After all, a fight with them wouldn’t have left her without wounds of her own, even in that armour. If that armour was still functional at the end of it…

He perished the thought as Rogers- speak of the devil, he thought drily- strode into the room, jaw clenched, righteousness on his face. T'Challa resisted rolling his eyes.

“T’Challa, your majesty, you need to help Bucky. You can't keep ignoring my requests for a doctor,” he said, tone angry and frustrated.

“Captain,” the king started, amazed by the man's stubbornness, “A _doctor_ isn't going to help Barnes. He needs a psychiatrist, a therapist. Physically, he's _fine_.”

Steve’s chin lifted and his eyes narrowed. “He wants to go into cryo, T’Challa. I can't let that happen, I _can't_.”

T'Challa sighed at the wrecked note to his tone. “Captain, with all due respect, that's his choice, _not_ yours,” he said pointedly. “Sergeant Barnes has had enough of his choices made for him by others. I will not allow that to continue here in Wakanda.” His voice grew harder, and his eyes narrowed to match Roger’s.

Steve glared. “He doesn't know _what_ he wants, though. He's not in the right frame of mind to make that decision.”

“It is his choice, and his choice alone. _Is that understood_?”

Steve tilted his chin up higher, haughty and challenging, in a promise that this wouldn't be the last of his protests, before he stormed out, no doubt to plead with Barnes to _please reconsider, Bucky, I just got you back- you can't leave me!_

T’Challa cursed in frustration. He didn't know how his _Baba_ did it. How he dealt with people like this for so long.

How did _Stark_ deal with them all?

He shook his head in amazement. _Women truly are strong creatures._

 

* * *

 

 

Unbeknownst to her, Toni Stark wondered the same thing as she lay there in a hospital bed, in pure agony.

It had been a week since that battle in Siberia, since the act of betrayal that had finally broken her beyond repair.

Chest destroyed, heart giving out, ribs broken and cracked, piercing abdominal organs every time she even _tried_ to breathe, she lay there, in a pool of her own coppery, scarlett blood, crying.

They were ugly sobs. Sobs that wracked her whole body, growing exponentially worse with each sob as her pain grew and grew, like a crescendo at the end of a final movement of a symphony.

 _Her_ symphony.

She was dying, she realised. In a cold, abandoned bunker, the only heat provided by her own blood, in her mangled, destroyed suit, she was dying.

Alone.

Betrayed.

It stung. No, it cut like a knife. A knife that had been plunged into the very fires of hell, covered with the bitter poison of betrayal, and twisted into her very heart.

At the time, she couldn't think of anything worse. Even the torture she had endured in Afghanistan, the open heart surgery without anaesthetic, the constant, chronic pain of the arc reactor, paled in comparison to this.

At least that was physical, was a sign of her strength, her tenacity, her _survival_.

This, the real pain, was in her _soul_. Was a reminder of everything she had lost, of everything she never had.

Of what could have been.

Of course, that was before she had been injected with extremis. That was worse.

Every single nerve was firing, every pain receptor on fire, screaming along with her. She could _feel_ the way her body was knitting itself back together, reminding her of how she could feel Yinsen’s hands in her chest, on her heart.

It was deliciously excruciating and freeing.

Lay there in hospital, having been brought back by Vision from that godforsaken bunker, she embraced it, because she _deserved_ it.

She took the pain as her due punishment, screaming until her throat bled as her entire chest and abdomen glowed, almost blinding her.

After 72 hours of hell she was reborn, re _made_.

Surrounding her were the warm, dusty ashes of the bed, poetically fitting; she truly was a phoenix, risen from the ashes.

The Merchant of Death had risen again, with a thirst for vengeance, for justice for herself and her family.

 _No one_ hurt her family, her Rhodey, without paying the price. And she would happily burn Rogers and the world to sate the beast within her that craved the violence and bloodshed in which it had been borne.

The world was a fool for underestimating Toni Stark.

 


	2. Rhodey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, happy Friday!

“Rhodey?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming, scratchy and thin. She opened her eyes slightly, wincing and the brightness, looking to the blurred figure standing above her hopefully.

She nearly cried when it spoke. “He's okay, Toni, don't worry.” Pepper. Toni smiled, reaching for her hand, clutching it tight. The woman sounded wrecked, and fresh guilt flared within the genius. God, she'd put her through hell.

“Pep, oh my God, Pep, I'm so sorry.” Her voice caught as she apologised, eyes watering and wide. Desperation prompted her to speak again, through the pain. “I'm so sorry,” she repeated, over and over, both hands clutching one of Pepper’s.

Her vision cleared slightly as a few tears rolled down her face, unnoticed by both women. “Hey, shh, it's okay, Toni, you're okay.” Pepper was crying now too, but her voice was even and strong. _So brave_ , Toni thought, admiration for the woman bubbling within her. “Everything's gonna be okay,” she promised, pressing a kiss on Toni’s forehead. “God, you scared me so much.” She laughed, a horrible, wet sound that made Toni want to keen. “I love you so much, Toni, and you could've died thinking-”

“Pep, Pepper, the light of my life, I'm going to stop you right there,” Toni interrupted, voice weak but determined. Her eyes hardened and her hands trembled. She didn't want to think about _that_ , and she definitely didn't want Pepper to think what they both knew she was going to say. Their breakup had been ugly- not malicious or one sided, but they both blamed themselves and pushed each other away, the pain and loss being too fresh. “I love you, you know that, and I know that you love me.” She squeezed her ex’s hand in comfort, closing her eyes momentarily, swallowing hard.

Pepper, however, looked angry. Where grief and pain had softened her, whittled her down as she stared at Toni, listened to her screams, sat by Rhodey, waiting for him to wake up, to pull through, anger at the thought of what had put the most important people in her life in this position hardened her, lighting a fire deep within her that set her eyes blazing. She wasn't a religious woman, but she's prayed to every God she knew for her friends to make it.

An angry Pepper was truly a sight to behold.

“He nearly took you both away from me, Toni,” she whispered, voice hard and burning. Her fury was almost a physical presence in the room, so thick that if Tony reached out she could press her fingers into it. “And he didn't even care.”

Toni saw Pepper’s free hand clench into a fist, a rare sight for the usually rational and level headed woman. But, Toni acknowledged bitterly, the time for diplomacy had passed. She sighed, denying nothing. Pepper wasn't wrong, after all.

“He's going to pay,” Pepper promised, meeting Toni’s eyes. “We'll make him pay for this, Toni. Together.” They were, after all, much better as a team. Her, Rhodey and Toni. They had been for years, ever since they'd all first met.

Toni smiled at her friend, her better half, not saying anything. Deep down she knew that there were bigger things at play, and there was a very real possibility that they’d need Rogers back; destroying him like Pepper wanted was an impossibility, otherwise the public would riot at the thought of welcoming the Rogues back into the US. Her hand trailed absently to her stomach, previous guilt making way for a burning, bitter hatred. Hatred for Rogers, for what he had said, what he had done, and what he had taken.

She wasn't the only one he'd killed in that bunker.

Pepper’s eyes followed the movement, somehow hardening even more. She knew. She knew how Rogers had killed the child. The child he'd sired. _Toni_ didn't survive that fight, so neither had hope for the baby in her stomach. Extremis would have terminated the pregnancy if the trauma suffered to her body hadn't.

“For that, he will _burn_.”

Toni didn't disagree.

* * *

 

Hours later, and Toni was finally released from medical. Biting her lip, she stood in the doorway of Rhodey’s room, shoulders hunched in a way that made her seem small and vulnerable.

Would he even want her here?

She wanted to say yes, and a part of her did, but a larger part kept reminding her that it was _her_ fault, that he'd blame her, rightfully, for what had happened to him.

She was about to give in and step away when Pepper’s hand, warm and comforting, landed on her shoulder. Toni leaned into her side, seeking comfort from her. She was pleased that all of their suffering had at least brought the two women closer together once again after their breakup. “Come on, Toni, you know he wouldn't- _doesn't_ \- blame you.” Pepper's firm voice was a balm to Toni, it soothed her, relaxed her.

Toni smiled self-depreciatingly, shrugging. “Sure.” Ignoring Pepper’s pointed gaze, she stepped into the room, sitting on a chair by her brother's bed. She hesitated before reaching to grab his hand, pulling it towards her, rubbing soothing circles on it with her thumb. “Hey Platypus.”

She leant forward, resting her forehead on his chest, inhaling deeply. He had always smelt the same, refusing to change his cologne or bodywash since she first met him, and over the years it had become a steady and comforting constant in her life. He smelt like home to her, and she was so relieved that she was still able to take comfort in it, that he was still _here._

“Miss you.” God, she missed him more than anything.

She felt Pepper's hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, warm and comforting and she stayed there, embracing her brother with her best friend, more sister than anything, stood by her in silent support, for hours. No words were spoken, but none needed to be.

They were all together, and that was all that mattered. The time for grieving over her lost child, the result of their short but, what had felt, genuine relationship with Steve- _Rogers_ \- that had blossomed into being shortly after her breakup with Pepper, starting with tenderness and ended with violence and bloodshed, would come after. After she fixed her Rhodey. After she had come to terms with what Rogers had done, how he had so carelessly and with such a lack of compassion, of love, thrown everything she'd ever given him- her tech, her _love_ \- in her face. And all for his precious Bucky.

Neither women mentioned the wet patch on Rhodey’s hospital bed where she'd rested her head as she finally stood, pressing one last kiss to her brother's cheek before retreating to her workshop. Her sanctuary.

* * *

 

_Strong arms wrapped around her as she stood, interacting with the many holograms scattered around her, filling her workshop with a soft, gentle blue. It gave everything a gentle and ethereal look, washing over her machinery, her tools, her bots. She loved it. “Well hello there,” she greeted the super soldier, grin spreading from ear to ear. “Didn't hear you come in,” she added, turning her attention from her work to Steve, resting her head on his shoulder._

_“That's because your music’s so loud,” he laughed. And it was, but that was the way she liked it, thumping, so she could feel it in her chest. Of course Friday had reduced the volume when Steve had entered, but she was so engrossed in her work that she hadn't noticed._

_“You say that like it's a bad thing.” She raised an eyebrow, rolling her eyes good naturedly._

_He grinned pressing a quick, soft kiss to her cheek. “Missed you.”_

_She turned in his embrace, tilting her head to give him a proper kiss. “Of course you did,” she grinned playfully._ _It made her feel so warm inside, though, that he cared that much for her. That he'd come down here just because he_ missed _her. She cradled his face in her hands, eyes warm and shining with affection, with love. God, they hadn't even been together that long and she was in love with him._ _It felt so right, though. Like it was meant to be._ _She kissed him again, savouring the moment. She wanted to preserve it forever. Preserve their love for each other forever._

* * *

  
Tony remembered when she found out she was pregnant. It was a week before Germany, before Siberia, and she had been so excited. Scared, beyond belief, but excited.

_Toni hadn't been feeling well- she suspected it was a slight case of anaemia, as she'd suffered with it her whole life- so she'd gone down to medical to get a blood test done at Bruce’s insistence- the worrywart- to make sure. He'd found her vomiting, which was unusual, but not unheard of. She blamed it on food poisoning._

_Surprisingly, the doctor had come in, face unsure and hesitant. “Dr Stark,” he'd begun, his shifting and anxious demeanor causing Toni to panic. Oh God, what was it this time? “Unfortunately you are slightly anaemic, nothing too serious and nothing that can't be rectified, but the bloodworks revealed some… interesting results. Dr Stark, you're pregnant.”_

_It was like time stopped as those words reached her ears. Her stomach dropped and her eyes widened. Full-blown panic washed over her, turning the world fuzzy, muffling her hearing. Pregnant. Her._

_She was going to be a mother._

_Her mouth opened, but shut almost as quickly. For once in her life she was at a loss, speechless. “How long?” she managed to choke out, and she was proud at how even her voice was. How calm. She almost sounded normal._

_The doctor regarded her, and she suppressed a flinch, imagining the thoughts that must be running through his head. How he must be thinking about how unfit she was to be a mother. “Six weeks.”_

_She bit her lip. So the vomiting was morning sickness. She thought back, laughing slightly internally at how oblivious she'd been. She hadn't even realised she was so late, hadn't thought about why her breasts were slightly tender. Thank God she'd been sober for the past three months. Not that anyone had realised, she thought, slightly bitter. They all still thought of her as the drunkard, even if they wouldn't admit to it._

_She breathed deeply, nodding at the doctor. “Thank you, doc.” Standing, she made her way to her penthouse, still shocked, and collapsed on her bed, mind whirring. Over the next hour, the initial shock gave way to excitement._

_She was going to be a mother._

_She smiled, thinking of her own mother, of how beautiful and amazing she had been. She promised to herself that she'd be like Maria, and not like Howard._ _Rubbing a hand on her belly she grinned, fantasies claiming her. Fantasies of her family; her, Steve, and their baby._

_Steve._

_God, what would he say? She bit her lip, anxious._ It'll be fine, he'll be happy, _she told herself._ He'll be so happy. _Looking at the ceiling, she thought of how to tell him. He'd been busy, lately, searching for old Hydra bases, wiping them out. It wasn't Avengers business as such, so he'd only taken Nat with him._ I'll tell him when he gets back, when it's all sorted, _she decided. She'd cook him something and break the news over dinner. She grinned imagining it._

_“It's gonna be okay, Fri, yeah?”_

_“Yes, Boss. Congratulations, you're already a great mother to us, so I have no doubt that you'll be just as perfect with the baby.” The AI sounded so fond at that moment that it brought a tear to Toni’s eye, a sudden burst of love warming her chest._

_“I love you too, baby girl. I love you too.”_

* * *

Toni worked and she worked, determined to keep her mind busy. If she didn't, she'd think about everything that she'd lost, she'd think about Rhodey, about her baby, about _Steve_ , and that would destroy her.

So she did what she did best: she built armour after armour, each more structurally sound than the last. She'd never let herself- or anyone else in her suits, for that matter (because she still remembered how her suit was the only thing that saved Pepper during the whole Mandarin debacle)- be helpless and vulnerable like she was in Siberia ever again.

As she worked, her hand drifted absently to her chest, where the shield had landed, crushing everything in her chest. She winced, remembering the pain, how the metal of her suit had pierced her, crushed her. In that moment it had become a coffin.

She worked for days, Extremis giving her more energy than she'd ever had. She came up every now and then to check on Rhodey, see Pepper and Happy- and weren't they just the cutest couple?- but the majority of her time was spent dealing with the fallout from the ‘Civil War’.

It was exhausting, even with Extremis, but she couldn't stop, _wouldn't_ stop. Physically she was fine, but mentally she was an absolute wreck. But, she would be damned if she let Rogers ruin this for her, ruin everything she'd worked for. So she met with the UN, made for amendments to the Accords, held press conferences, did everything she could to fix everything.

Pepper wanted her to do a press conference, to announce to the world the sins committed by the Rogues, by Rogers. Toni, however, was opposed. No one could know what really happened, how badly she'd been hurt (killed, really- after all, her heart had stopped several times). If the public knew, everything she was working on for on the Accords would be ruined. They'd never let Captain America back, and she knew- didn't like it at _all_ , but she knew- that at some point, the Rogues were going to be needed. She'd had the feeling ever since New York that something big- bigger than them all- was coming, and that feeling had only grown. Now it was like a buzz under her skin, reminding her of the vision that _witch_ had shoved into her head. Everyone dead, because of her. She couldn't let that happen, so she would just have to suck it up and act as the scapegoat.

She needed to get the Rogues back, one way or another.

It was just so hard. Even just the mention of Siberia would send her back to that bunker, ice cold, with Rogers on top of her, shield whistling down- _oh God he's going for my neck, he's actually going to_ kill me _oh god oh god oh my god-_

Distantly, she noticed a hand land on her shoulder, warm and grounding. She focused on it, using it to pull herself out of her own mind and impending panic attack. God knows she'd had enough practice with that; after Afghanistan and New York, and now Siberia, she was just a mess of PTSD and flashbacks, anxiety, depression and- to top it all off- abandonment issues and gaping insecurities. Not that anyone had really noticed, or cared.

At least with not sleeping for the past few days she hadn't had to deal with the nightmares. She was sure that they'd be much much worse now.

“Toni…” Pepper's voice was soft, sympathetic. “You okay?”

Toni plastered a grin to her face, as authentic as canned cheese, and nodded. “Course, Pep. Always.”

Pepper raised a slender, perfect eyebrow in disbelief but let it go. “I brought you some food,” she said instead, in lieu of dragging Toni out of her lab and forcing her to sleep. That wouldn't help anyone at this point. She placed the sandwich down, removing her hand from Toni’s shoulder, who mourned the loss, and sighed. “Eat it, okay? And _try_ and get some rest?”

Toni nodded, exhaustion suddenly washing over her like a wave, nearly knocking her down. It didn't look like Pepper was faring any better; her normally perfect hair was on the verge of frizzy, strands escaping from her ponytail, and even her makeup couldn't hide the bags under her eyes, or the tired set of her mouth. Guilt clawed at Toni. She didn't want to add to Pepper’s already full plate, so she picked up the sandwich and bit into it without a fuss.

“You too,” she replied mildy in between bites.

Pepper sighed again, resting her hip against the worktop she and Toni were standing at. “Yeah, okay.” She rubbed at her eyes, watching as Toni finished the food. When she was done, she took the plate off her and walked out, no doubt to dump it in a sink in one of her many kitchens.

Toni sighed. “Fri, close everything down for me?”

“Sure thing, Boss.” The AI sounded relieved, which only added to Toni’s guilt. God, she'd even managed to worry her _child_.

“Thanks babygirl,” she yawned, stretching. She was about to make to leave when an alert popped up in front of her.

_Incoming video call: King T’Challa, Wakanda._

Toni frowned. What would T'Challa want with her? “Fri? You know why the king of Wakanda is calling me?” She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times to clear her vision. “I'm seeing this right, yeah? I'm not hallucinating?”

It had happened once, well, it had happened a lot if she were to be completely honest, when she'd been on an engineering bender like this one. She'd thought that Howard was back, and had completely freaked out, freaking Friday out in the process.

“Unfortunately, Boss, you _are_ seeing correctly. King T'Challa is indeed calling you, though his motive is unknown.” The AI’s tone was cold and coloured with sharp disapproval. Ever since T'Challa left her there in Siberia she had a strong dislike for the man.

Toni frowned, shooting the closest camera a _what-the-hell_ look before signalling her to accept the call. Instantly, T'Challa’s face was projected before her, large and in high definition. “T'Challa, what can I do you for?”

The king smiled, though it looked tense. “Dr Stark,” he greeted, “I, uh, wanted to ask you how your friend was doing. Colonel Rhodes.”

Toni’s smile fell slightly, almost unnoticeable. “Same as before, the doctors tell me.” Her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. Why did T'Challa of all people want to know? “He still hasn't woken up.”

T'Challa nodded gravely. “That's unfortunate to hear. I hope he wakes soon.” He sounded genuine, which set Toni even more on edge.

“Why do you care?” It came out harsher than she meant, but she refused to apologise for that. She was sleep-deprived, mourning, still in pain and recovering from recent events  (and seeing the king wasn't exactly helping), missing her friend and dragging up a painful and unnecessary subject wasn't helping her mood.

She just wanted to sleep, nightmares be damned.

 _Maybe if I took a sleeping pill I wouldn't dream?_ she considered absently before her attention was pulled back to the king as he answered her.

“Mr Wilson inquired, and I admit I was concerned for him also.” Toni raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. The king's gaze dropped momentarily before meeting her own. “I also wished to inquire about your own health, despite your actions.”

Toni’s gaze hardened as her body stiffened. “My actions?” she asked, voice deceptively calm.

The king nodded, anger clouding his face. “Yes, your unprovoked attack on Barnes and Rogers,” he clarified. “It was an unacceptable act, but, being good man that has been raised by a good king, I wished to make sure that you were unharmed.” His eyes raked over her image as his jaw clenched slightly. There didn't seem to be a scratch on her body; Rogers and Barnes mustn't have even fought back. Fresh anger stirred within him. His concern for Stark was obviously undeserved. “You appear uninjured.”

Toni’s lips curved into a parody of a smile at his condemning tone and words, eyes suddenly bitter and pained. “Unprovoked, you say?” she drawled, head tilting slightly. Eyes narrowed in a glare. “Unacceptable, huh?” She laughed, a harsh, mirthless thing that made the king uneasy. “I assure you, _your majesty_ ,” she spat, “That whilst my actions could be considered unacceptable, at a stretch, they were in no way _unprovoked.”_ The king was visibly taken aback by her anger and words. “Is it _unprovoked_ when you're made to watch a video of your parent's _murder_ , to discover that their murderer stands before you, that your _boyfriend_ , the man you love more than anything, _knew for years but never told you_ ? Is it? That he went behind your back, used your money to find said murderer? I gave him my _everything_ and he _betrayed_ me, he _chose_ the man that killed my parents instead of me.” Her eyes were blazing, burning holes into the king as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Tears glistened, but they both ignored them. “He threw everything I ever gave him in my face when he made that choice, when he left me there for dead. Said I wasn't enough, that our love wasn't enough.” She sneered. “As for uninjured, I assure you that I was anything _but_ as you left me to die.”

T'Challa’s eyes widened. “I didn't know!” he defended, horrified.

Toni shook her head. “It doesn't matter, now.” She sighed, all of her anger dissipating, leaving her feeling drained. “Look, just…” She rubbed at her face. “Just keep them out of trouble for the time being.” She cut the call, slumping to the floor, pressing her head to her knees.

“Boss, I-”

“I know, Fri, I know.” She stood, the room spinning for a moment, before she managed to stagger towards the door. “I got a promise to keep.”

Five minutes later she collapsed on her bed and was soon dead to the world. Pepper would be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter did NOT turn out how it wanted it to, but oh well. I tried. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, though :) 
> 
> Fat bottomed girls may make the world go round, but comments and kudos make MY world go round. So, y'know, leave me some love? Please?
> 
> Thanks :-*
> 
> Also, follow me on twitter: @bulletformyhu


	3. The Playroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy long time no see.  
> Sorry it's late, but enjoy! (full disclosure: I hate this chapter so much, it just did not want to be written and turned out awful, so sorry about that)

The Asset loitered by Stark Tower, blending into the crowd of people going about their business. Dressed in the clothes it had stolen from a house close to the bunker- it had stormed into the nice, warm home, frenzied with post-cryo confusion, and had left it trashed and bloodied, head ringing, filled with the harsh words  _ no witnesses, never any witnesses or punishment will ensue  _ on a loop _ - _ it had made its way to New York, having learnt that Toni Stark, one of the highest threat levels to Hydra out of the Avengers, resided there. On its way, it had also learnt that the other Avengers were in the wind; nobody knew of their location, which would complicate the Asset’s mission, but no matter. The Asset had located Stark, and so, for the moment, the others were of no concern.

The Asset had been on its reconnaissance mission for the past few days, slowly establishing the schedule of the tower and its inhabitants. Workers entered in the morning and left late at night. Only Stark herself remained, which was pleasing. She would be alone and vulnerable, making her an easy target. A strange reluctance weighed the Asset down, though, as it considered her murder. It was… tired of killing for Hydra. It shook its head, ignoring the malfunction. The mission would be executed.

Stood in the tower’s sprawling shadow, a sliver of appreciation settled over the Asset as it gazed up, seeing how tall the building actually was. It loomed over the nearby buildings, seeming to stretch upwards, as if to touch the sky itself. Objectively, the Asset acknowledged that it was a beautiful feat of engineering. Unfortunately, the longer the Asset watched the tower and the workers in it, the more issues were presented. Mainly, the AI that ran the tower. 

The Asset had determined that it was dangerous and posed a concerning threat to its mission, and would thus need to be dealt with. Efficiency would be key. Researching- it was a simple task for it to steal a laptop and, once it had accustomed itself with the technology (Hydra had somewhat taught it the necessities for infiltration missions that it had been allowed to keep) it had read up on Stark’s AI technology- had led it to the conclusion that a virus would be a suitable method. One that was fast-acting and lethal. 

It spent a week developing a suitable virus that it would be able to plant in a worker’s phone- assuming that not all had StarkPhones as they would take too long to hack and would almost certainly be able to detect a hacking attempt- to enter the mainframe of the tower and, thus, the AI. 

It was ready.

* * *

Night had fallen over New York, enveloping the skyline of the city in a shroud of darkness, pierced by the twinkling lights of the skyscrapers. Stark Tower, however, lit up like a beacon in the darkness of the night, pouring light into the darkness like a star. It shone, proud and bright, until it didn’t. Lights flickered before blinking out, and the tower was engulfed in darkness as the Asset activated its virus. In its penthouse, a slumbering Toni slept on, too deep in the clutches of her nightmares to realise the presence of the assassin. 

Nightmares, Toni had realised, once, were always portrayed as being terrible, physical things, with the victim always thrashing, awaking with a scream clawing its way out of their throat. And maybe it was like that for most people; for Toni, however, it was the opposite. 

Her sleep always started with a normal dream, corrupted over the course of the few hours she would manage to sleep for, by a darkness that lurked within her. It would seize her perfectly normal dream, allowing it to be blackened, muddied, by its stench, its darkness, and work its claws into her. She’d be immobilised by it, always, vulnerable as it dug out a darkest memory, a darkest, hidden fear, and would force her to relive it, watch it unfold to the people she loved. 

She could never move, even when she woke. She’d gasp, struggling for air, but she’d never thrash, never scream. She couldn’t. Its grasp over her wouldn’t be released by something as trivial as lucidity; it would paralyse her, until long after the images, the  _ smells _ , faded. 

That was how she woke that night, to see the Asset stood directly over her. 

Fresh from a nightmare that was a horrifying blend of Afghanistan and Siberia- because  _ why not _ , her brain must have decided, why the  _ fuck _ not, huh-, all she could do was wheeze, eyes locked on those of the figure above her. 

A part of her wouldn’t have fought back, even if she could, but, as the figure moved, what was presumably an arm, on a downward path towards her throat-  _ Siberia all over again, oh God-  _ her body decided to take matters into its own hands.

Already pumped up with adrenaline from her nightmare, a fresh dose freed her from the manacles of the nightmare, and, before her brain could register it, she was moving. She rolled off the bed, watch transforming into a gauntlet as there was an unmistakable ripping sound of the intruder’s knife tearing through her bedding and mattress. 

She cursed, repulsor whining as she lifted her arm, intruder regarding her, motionless. The faint glow of the repulsor seemed blinding in the darkness of the night as it lit up the room as she shot. Unfortunately, the intruder seemed to anticipate it, and ducked, rolling out of the way of the blast. Cursing again, she aimed again, jumping out of the way as he lunged at her.

**((I have no idea how to write a fight scene I am so sorry))**

Before she could retaliate, he had pushed her onto the bed, leaning over her and pinning her down with his bodyweight. She writhed under his bulk, bringing her knee up, feeling it connect with the hard wall of his stomach. They continued to tussle, wrestling and grunting, until she eventually managed to deliver a blow to his head, knocking him unconscious. Chest heaving and heart racing, she scrambled off him, panting heavily. 

“What the hell?”

* * *

 

When the Asset woke, it was once again in a cell. Albeit, a large one that was worlds apart from what it had been kept in by Hydra when he in the awkward limbo between cryo and a mission. Those cells had been dark, with no windows or light, and damp, mould creeping along the walls, clogging the air with its putrid scent. They had been small, too; too small for it to be able to stand fully erect, barely large enough for it to lie out when sleeping or injured. Not that they let it sleep. The only rest it had received in the hands of Hydra had been when it was in cryo.

Those days locked in those cells, with no human contact, had been filled with pain, exhaustion and hunger, always hunger. The Asset was unable to recall when it had last consumed solid food, if it ever had. Though, it couldn’t exactly remember much other than the cruelty it had suffered. 

This cell, however, was much larger, cleaner, and was filled with light. It could even see out, to where Stark stood, watching it. It snarled, remembering how it had allowed her to deliver a blow to its head that had incapacitated it.  _ Sloppy _ , he remembered being spat at him, when a mission had gone wrong, like this one had,  _ and sloppy work gets punished _ . Each word had been enforced with a crack of a whip, the sensation of the blood crawling down its back. 

It regarded the woman with steady eyes and an expressionless face. 

It’s new handler.

Right? Why else would she keep it?

It’s snarl disappeared, giving way to a perfectly blank expression as it watched her frown down at him, lips moving as she talked, but it couldn’t hear her. 

Glancing upwards, she gave a small grin before her gaze settled to it once again, heavy and determined. “Who sent you to kill me?” Her voice, firm and yet somehow warm, washed over it, emanating from a speaker from a corner in the ceiling. 

It regarded her cooly before answering, voice hoarse and rough from disuse. “Antonia Stark, threat level ten, member of the Avengers, threat level ten and a likely hindrance to the rebuilding of Hydra. Target, under Protocol: Wipeout, initiated.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hydra, huh? Thought they’d well and truly burnt in that whole DC fiasco,” he muttered to herself. “Fri, babygirl, make a note. We’d better keep an eye on that.” She sighed, tapping away on the tablet in her hand, eyes flicking up to the Asset every now and again. “So you’ve been sent to eliminate the Avengers?”

“Affirmative.” It watched as she cursed, dragging a hand through her hair.

“Great. Fri, alert his Kittiness. They might send someone else to finish the job if they realise this one’s disappeared on them.”

The Asset stood, chin raised. So she was to kill it. A sliver of relief ran through it at the thought. A malfunction: Assets were not meant to feel anything. The relief was accompanied by a slightly larger thread of fear, a primal response in the face of death that not even Hydra could wipe out. It ignored the feeling though, as it had been taught. Emotions were of no use to a weapon. “They won’t. I am the last.” It tilted its head. “When you kill me Hydra will have no hope.” Its voice was level, emotionless.

Toni scowled. “I’m not going to kill you.” She bit her lip, looking it up and down, eyes lingering on its uniform. “You’re a Winter Soldier?” When it nodded she pulled a face. “Great, I thought Zolo killed you guys in Siberia.” She bit her lip, frowning. “I thought Barnes was the only one alive?”

The Asset opened its mouth, but shut it. Conflict warred within it; Stark obviously wanted information, and information demanded by a handler must be given, but its lessons taught through agony made it… hesitant to give out information jealously guarded by Hydra to an enemy of the organisation. Eyes narrowing slightly, it tried to speak again, once again failing.  _ Stop it, _ a voice in its head chided. It clenched its jaw; the voice had appeared after leaving that bunker, after it had set to seek out the Avengers, storming the houses it came across for necessary supplies, leaving a trail of bloodshed in its wake. It had gotten stronger over time, urging it to run, to escape from Hydra.  _ You owe Hydra nothing. She will help you to burn them to the ground.  _ As the voice spoke, images of Hydra bases in flames, agents choking on the smoke, ashes falling all around it filled its mind, searing themselves onto its mind. And it was like a key had unlocked something deep within the Asset; the urge to see this to fruition was insatiable, a burning need coursing through its very veins. Something burned in the pit of its stomach, a fire that called for revenge.  _ You have been Hydra’s puppet for too long. _

Its back straightened as its already weakening conditioning loosened further. It had been in cryo for a long time, and hadn’t been wiped for longer; Hydra’s hold over it was breaking, and the voice was accelerating the process. “I was a secret, kept for the most important missions. Like Protocol: Wipeout.”

Stark sighed. “Okay, so now I have  _ another _ brainwashed assassin to deal with. Great. Ross is gonna have a field day with this,” it heard her mutter as she closed her eyes briefly, obviously displeased. Suddenly her eyes snapped open to meet his. “If I told you that I could help you, would you still try to kill me?” She asked, voice weary. 

It shook its head adamantly. “Assigned handler,” it explained. It couldn’t hurt her if it wanted to, not that it did: Stark seemed like the best option. _Tell her you want to burn them, too_ , the voice whispered. _Tell her you want to break free._ _You refuse to be a puppet for any longer, that you will help her raze them to the ground._

Stark’s eyes narrowed and her chin raised slightly, fingers clutching the tablet ever so slightly tighter. “Yeah, that doesn’t exactly reassure me. Last Winter Freeze I met killed his last handler. Besides, I’m not even Hydra, so does that even count?” She wondered, scratching her head. “Look, I have this thing, BARF? I was planning on sending it to- you know what, never mind, that’s not important. What  _ is _ important, is that I think I can use it to break your conditioning, if it’s anything like the other guy’s.”

The Asset felt its lips curve into a smile, teeth bared. The voice, which was steadily becoming more of a presence in its mind, thrummed in approval.  _ Freedom _ . “If you can do that? I’ll become your bodyguard and  _ no one _ will hurt you,” it swore.

Stark smiled grimly. “Great, but first I’m going back to bed. Don’t you dare try to escape.”

The Asset bowed its head in acknowledgement, emotions surging within it. Malfunctions it thought. Normally, malfunctions like these would be a sign that a wipe was overdue, and Hydra would wipe it. Blend its brain, leave it a blank, drooling slate.  _ Emotions _ , the voice corrected, _ are a sign of your humanity, of your freedom from Hydra. _

The Asset may have been born by Hydra, evolved from the  _ Henkei  _ forged in the darkness of the Japanese war camp, but it was  _ more _ than what they thought. It was evolving again, into something that Hydra could no longer control. 

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Toni didn’t actually get any more sleep. Still jittery with adrenaline, both from her  _ guest _ and nightmare, she couldn’t sleep if she wanted to. Instead, she made her way to the kitchen, body on autopilot as it went through the familiar and usually comforting process of making a hot chocolate, her mind elsewhere. 

There was a Winter Soldier in her Hulk containment cell (she used to joke with Bruce and call it the playroom, and wasn’t that a painful thought).

Maybe they were right to call her reckless.

A  _ Winter Soldier _ was in the Tower with her, after trying to kill her.  _ Fucking hell this is a crazy night. _

Cradling her mug filled with the warm liquid, she made her way to the sofa, feeling its warmth seep into her. The thought that the soldier had been  _ this _ close to killing her didn’t scare her as much as it should, she realised, bringing her knees to her chest, sipping from the drink. It warmed her as it passed down her oesophagus, burning through the cold that had settled permanently within her. Its sweet, thick taste soothed her, a temporary balm for her aches and pains.

Sat there, clutching her drink in the darkness, her conversation with the Winter Soldier in the playroom playing in her head, one thought crossed her mind that dragged a slightly hysterical laugh from her. It bubbled up past her lips with a mind of her own.

_ Pepper’s gonna kill me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So writing the Asset was really hard and I'm not too happy with how it turned out, but hopefully it'll be better in time. 
> 
> Also, sorry about the late update, this chapter took longer to write than expected :/
> 
> Also, this is completely unedited- I'll get on that later lol
> 
> See you all next time.


	4. I am Miro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, guys! It's a stinker, I'll tell you. Got up to 47 degrees C the other week. Thought I was going to melt lmao.   
> Hopefully you're all much cooler! 
> 
> So its been a while haha. I know its not a Friday but I wanted to get an update up as soon as possible because it's been so long.

The Winter Soldier’s jaw feathered as Steve Rogers- because he always got that sad, disappointed look whenever he called him something, anything, else- continued on his endeavour to dissuade him from going back into cryo. Frustration- no longer new and foreign to him thanks to Steve- sludged through his veins, threatening to awaken the slumbering beast. “Steve,” he warned, fighting to keep his voice even, “Stay out of it.” His voice was hoarse, disused. He didn’t speak unless he had to. That was what he knew, but Rogers, the man who was so similar and yet so different from the scrawny, sick boy from his memories, kept trying to coax him into conversation. Or, he just lectured him.  _ No, Bucky, I just got you back! _

“This is my decision, respect it,” he added, almost in a hiss. Enough of his decisions had been taken from him. Frustration gave way to defensiveness, a sharper, more insistent feeling that hammered his heart, tore at his breaths, leaving them jagged as adrenaline flooded his system. No, the Soldier- because he wasn’t Steve’s Bucky, not yet, maybe not ever. He didn’t know  _ who _ he was anymore. He was nameless, and so he used the name given to him that carried a lesser weight, the name that would distinguish him from the man he once was, the once Steve thought he still was- would not let Steve speak  _ for _ him.

Steve frowned, shooting him a look that was pure disappointment as he sat on the end of the Soldier’s bed, sighing. The Soldier felt cornered. “Look, Bucky, T’Challa has doctors that can  _ help _ you. You don’t need to go under!” He looked to the Soldier, taking his hand. “You’ve already gotten better since we arrived,” he added. Lies. He wasn’t any better- the monster in his head was still there, whispering to him. Seducing him. “Bucky, I can’t lose you again- think of what it would do to me!” he pleaded, changing tact. 

The Soldier shook his head, disgusted at the blatant manipulation. It took every part of Bucky’s essence that remained to not kill him for it. He opened his mouth, about to respond when the heavy wooden door of the bedroom flung open to reveal T’Challa. 

A very irate T’Challa. 

_ He’s furious _ , that voice that lurked in the dark corners of his mind whispered, taking in every detail about the King. He shivered. 

Indeed he was- the King’s face was tight with wrath, eyes burning with it as he strode towards them, Steve quickly standing. “T’Challa,” he greeted with an easy smile. “I was just about to find you, actually. Buck-”

“Did you think,” he began, voice low and crackling with the ice of his rage, “That I would not discover your lies?” His eyes flickered between the two men, the Soldier feeling that he could brand them with the heat in his glare. 

Steve frowned, spluttering in a weak protest of innocence. “What- I- Your Majesty, I don’t know what you-”

“Do  _ not _ ,” he spat, “Treat me like a fool. You have lied to me, deceived and manipulated me into giving you shelter from your Government and the world- at a great risk to myself and my country, might I emphasise- and you have the  _ audacity _ to lie again?” Steve flinched, mouth working soundlessly in an impressive imitation of a goldfish. T’Challa snarled, flexing his hands as if he was fighting the urge to punch the man before him- maybe even the Soldier as well. “You left Stark to die.  _ Die _ .” His eyes flashed. 

“She was fine,” Steve protested, “She had her suit! I would never hurt her like that!”

“Which we destroyed,” the Soldier countered softly, guilt and shame waring deep within his gut. “She was stranded.”

T’Challa nodded, eyes hard as the vibranium of Rogers’ shield. The clatter it had made as he dropped it on the floor of that bunker as they had left Stark to die rang in his head. A damning sound. 

“You led me to believe that she had attacked you unprovoked, that she had left that bunker relatively fine. You deceived me.” And to T’Challa, a man who treasured honesty and honour, that would be the gravest insult one could commit. 

Steve clenched his jaw, chin tilting up as he crossed his arms in defiance. “I did what I had to do for Bucky.” The utter lack of remorse seemed to shock the king.

T’Challa regarded the fugitive, something like scorn in his gaze as he spoke again, voice low but firm as granite. “I received an alert from Stark’s A.I. this morning that there had been an attempt made on her life while she slept.” Another sweeping gaze that trapped the Soldier, freezing him in place as a small gasp of horror escaped Steve. “I want you to think carefully before you answer the question I am about to ask. If you lie to me again, I will not hesitate to throw you at America’s door and let you face the consequences for your actions.” Steve visibly swallowed as the king paused, allowing his promise to sink in. “Did you order that hit?”

Steve’s eyes widened in horror. “No! Your Majesty, I would never!”

T’Challa regarded him before his gaze slipped to the Soldier who remained seated on the bed, hands fisted in his lap. He shook his head. “No,” the Soldier spoke, lips pursed. “It was most likely Hydra.”

The king’s eyes narrowed in consideration. “She said the assassin claimed to be.”

“You think they lie?”

“I am afraid I do not know.” The king bit his lip, turning to the Dora Milaje. “Do not let them leave this room,” he ordered, striding out, leaving the two men in shocked silence. 

“What have we done?”

The Soldier didn’t deign the question worthy of an answer.

* * *

 

Toni woke with a crick in her neck and in desperate need of a shower after her nightmare- this time mainly featuring Afghanistan, though it was Stane torturing her, branding her. “Fri?” She asked as she stood, cracking her neck. “How’s our Assassin doing?”

“Still contained, Boss. Hasn’t slept a wink, though.” Her Irish lilt strained with concern. “I do think it would be wise to tell Miss Potts or Colonel Rhodes of his presence here in the tower.”

“No, don’t you dare tell them. Understand?” Her voice was firm, as hard and unyielding as iron. She sighed. “I don’t want them to worry. It’ll be fine. I totally have this under control.” She bit her lip, rubbing her arms. “It’s just an assassin in the basement that could probably break out and kill me without a second thought, but hey, it’s alright.” She snorted, rubbing at her eyes, stumbling towards the coffee machine. “I’m so screwed,” she sighed as the coffee machine spluttered into life, filling the room with its rich aroma. Sipping gingerly, she winced as it burned her throat, but welcomed the warmth it shot through her body. It warmed her from within, chasing away the lingering cold that haunted her. Cradling it in her hands, she leant against the counter top. “Reckon he’ll be hungry?” 

She smiled at Friday’s amused ‘Food  _ is  _ an excellent bribery tool’. 

With a laugh, she made an agreeing noise. “Yes, because I aim to buy his affections with food in the hope that he won’t kill me.” She smiled, shaking her head. “Still, I’m hungry so I might as well bring something down, yeah?” She set down her now half-full mug and made her way to the fridge, humming. “What do you reckon super soldiers like to eat?” Unbidden, memories of those lazy mornings with Steve arose. 

_ Toni enjoyed cooking. People always assumed she wouldn’t- was it a rich thing, she wondered?- but it always reminded her of her mother, of those long hours spent cooking, learning. They were some of the best memories of her childhood.  _

_ She hummed gently as she cooked some frittata, strong arms wrapped around her waist, gentle kisses pressed to her neck. “Smells great, sweetheart. Love it when you cook,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose at the base of her neck.  _

_ She beamed, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck, revelling in the feel of him. The affection. “Good, because it tastes even better than it smells,” she promised, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  _

Toni stiffened as her chest tightened, overwhelmed by the memory and the emotions it evoked. God, she’d been so  _ happy _ . 

And so stupid to think that it would last. 

Closing her eyes, she focused on evening out her breathing. She tapped her hand on her thigh, a grounding touch to refocus her. When she had calmed and shoved the memory deep deep down, she resumed rustling around in the fridge. “Bacon? Everyone loves bacon, right?” She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Unless you’re vegetarian or vegan,” she conceded with a sigh. Best not. “Omelette? I think I see some eggs… and he’s probably not vegan, right? Not with… everything.” She nodded to herself. “Yeah, omelette’s good. Not too rich, not too bland.”

Decision made, she set to work, losing herself in the familiarity of cooking. 

* * *

 

The Asset hadn’t moved since the woman had left. 

She was… confusing. She didn’t act like his handlers, which made it uneasy. Was she it’s handler? It’s brows furrowed as it tightened its arms around its knees, sat in the centre of the cell. She hadn’t hurt it at least. It had developed a… dislike for pain. For punishment. 

Another malfunction that would need to be rectified. It should inform her. But… it was reluctant to. It didn’t want to be how it was before. Empty. Controlled. Hydra’s control over it had loosened somewhat- it could feel it- and she- Stark- had promised that she would help it, would free it from Hydra completely. Would make it into a person. 

It liked that idea. The voice in its head approved, and somewhere deep within it  _ wanted _ it. Autonomy. Personality.  _ Feeling. _

It was strange, but the Asset thought that it just might be good. These… urges. The voice. Stark. 

She hadn’t hurt it. 

Why? 

It’s eyes snapped to the door outside as it heard it open. She was there. With food. 

Was this some kind of punishment?

Something like wariness gripped it as she stepped closer, graceful and powerful, balancing a plate of food on each hand. 

Two?

A grin, too large with too much teeth to be real, covered her face as she beheld him, something flickering in here eyes that it couldn’t identify as she stopped before the glass. “Hungry?”

The Asset raised its head, eyes darting between the food and the woman. The food was for it?  _ Say yes, take the food, _ the voice urged, insistent. It hesitated before, despite his instincts protesting, giving a slow, single nod. 

It was hungry.

But that didn’t usually matter. Usually it would be given a nutritional shake to drink when necessary to maintain optimal functioning and that was it. It couldn’t remember ever having food. 

It wanted food, though, and that scared it. Scared, and thrilled, the sliver of it that wasn’t seized by some base survival instinct to gobble down the food, because it didn’t know when it would next be able to eat. 

Wanting was what people did, not weapons. 

_ Yes,  _ the voice whispered,  _ that’s right. You’re free of them, you’re  _ free. 

The door to its cell slid open, allowing Stark to step inside, offering a plate of food. Something flat, with flecks of green and red and yellow. 

_ Reckless, _ the voice hissed, and the Asset had to agree as she moved even closer to set the plate on the floor in front of it before moving away. She sat with her back against a wall, opposite from it.

Slowly, almost as if to not startle it, and deliberately, she ate.  _ Look _ , she almost seemed to say,  _ it’s safe to eat _ . 

Only when she was done and she gave it an encouraging nod- permission- did it eat. It devoured the food, barely registering the taste, shovelling the food down with its hands, each swallow, each mouthful, easing something within it.

“So,” she began when it was finished. “I tweaked some stuff on the BARF system last night, and if your experience with Hydra is anything like Barnes’ then I think it might just work.”

Wide eyes met her own as a tongue darted out to cover its lips. “Help?” It ignored the distant spark of recognition ‘Barnes’ seemed to elicit. “BARF?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s… actually never mind. That’s not important. What  _ is _ important is the fact that you might have triggers, words that activate the brainwashing, and I don’t know what they are, so my tech’s kinda redundant at this point.” She sighed, massaging her temple. “I might be able to work round them, but-”

“ _ Wardang _ ,” it interrupted, “ _ Corroboree _ ,  _ bardan _ ,  _ beerit _ ,  _ dardark _ ,  _ djooboorl djooboorl _ ,  _ doongkoorlanwornt _ ,  _ karla kurliny _ ,  _ kilee _ ,  _ nortj _ .” It’s tone was flat, empty. These were the words that had the ability to tear its mind apart and bury any scrap of humanity left within it. They made it soulless. It hated them. Hated them almost as much as it hated Hydra.

A perfect eyebrow raised. “You know the words? And you can say them and it not affect you?” She leaned forward, intrigued. Her eyes were wide and honest, face unmarred by fear or disgust. That was… new.  

It gave a single, curt nod, brow furrowing slightly. “Of course I know them.” Those damning words were branded in its brain. Hydra had always been careful to keep them intact. Effective. Absently, its lips curled into a snarl at the thought, at the memories those words engendered. “I can’t make the words work on myself because they make me surrender control. I can’t give control of myself to myself,” it pointed out. 

Stark nodded in agreement. “Of course, of course.” The Asset watched as she pulled a tablet from a pocket, fingers dancing across the screen. She muttered to herself as she wrote, what it assumed to be, notes. “That helps a  _ lot _ ,” she breathed after a while. “I might actually have something for you within a week.”

Something warm and soft snaked round the Asset’s chest, wrapping around it’s cold, stone heart. It was a pleasant feeling, and the Asset felt itself bare its teeth in a wolfish grin. 

_ Hope, _ the voice whispered, caressing its mind.  _ You feel hope at last. _

“Good,” it snarled. “Very good.”

* * *

 

Toni worked non-stop on adjusting the B.A.R.F. system for the Soldier after that. Every second that wasn’t occupied by the accords, the UN, Ross, SI, Pepper, or visiting Rhodey was spent on this side project. 

“Hey, Fri, honey? Remind me to ask our resident murder bot for a name? I keep calling him Soldier Boy in my head and it just doesn’t seem right.”

There was a brief flutter of static that could have been a laugh as she replied ‘Duly noted, Boss.’

Toni smiled as she sat on one of the swivel chairs in her ‘shop, exhausted. She’d been running herself ragged in an attempt to keep the darkness away, to avoid thinking about anything other than work. It had worked, to some degree, but eventually she would always succumb to the unfortunate necessity of sleep. 

And sleep meant nightmares. 

Nightmares plagued her, hounded her. Haunted her. Whenever she would close her eyes, her past would rear its ugly head. Remind her of every single mistake she had ever made. 

Trusting Obi, trusting her team, and trusting Steve seemed to be her biggest mistakes. Her biggest regrets.

“How’s Platypus doing, baby girl?” She slouched in the chair, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. “I haven’t checked in on him in a while, huh?” Guilt cut her like a knife, but she embraced it. Deserved it. She was a wretched friend, a wretched  _ person. _

“No changes, Boss.” Friday’s tone was regretful and pained. She was helpless, only able to watch as Toni, her mother, spiralled and burned herself down to the stub. “I can monitor him while you sleep, if you would like,” she added casually. 

Toni’s lips curved into a smile, eyes dancing with mirth. “Sneaky. I see what you did there.” She tapped her chest three times, right where the arc reactor had been, where the scar of Rogers’ shield lay.  _ I love you. _

The lights in the ‘shop flashed in return, as did the lights on her ‘bots as they rolled over to her from their charging stations, nudging her. “Love you guys, too.” She stroked them, watching their lights flash and dance between the colour spectrum in return. “And Pep?”

“Ms Potts’ vitals are all within healthy range, and she is sound asleep. Safe.”

Toni frowned. “Asleep?”

“Yes, Boss. It is currently 3.17 am.” Her tone was dry.

“Already?” She stretched, yawning. “No wonder I’m so tired. How’s Soldier Boy?”

“Still contained, but awake.”  
  
“God, does he ever sleep?” She winced, realising her mistake a second too late.    


“He sleeps about as much as you, Boss.” 

“Touche, Fri, touche.”

“Hey, so I realised I never actually got your name?”

* * *

 

The Asset stood as Toni strode in, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, looking like she was running on fumes. Her usually so carefully put together appearance was in disarray; her hair was falling out of the bun she had put it in several days ago, her clothes were rumpled and creased, with various small stains dotting the fabric. Her eyes seemed sunken, with dark bags under her eyes and a tenseness to her face that only came with pure and utter exhaustion. 

It was the Asset’s deduction that she was in dire need of rest.

“Name?” It asked hesitantly. “I am an Asset, I do not have names. People have names.”

Toni tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “From where I’m standing,” she began slowly, “You  _ are _ a person. So, you need a name.”

It shook its head. “I-”

“Look, if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck and looks like a duck, its probably a duck. So, person.” The Asset blinked in bewilderment. 

“I look like a duck?”

She groaned, muttering under her breath. “No, no, you don’t.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that screw Hydra, okay? You’re a person to me and that’s all that matters, yeah?”

The Asset nodded. “I suppose.”

She nodded. “Right. So, you need a name. Can you remember it?”

The Asset screwed its eyes shut, nose scrunching as it searched through its memories. Well, what memories it had. _Miro,_ that voice howled, _Miro, Miro, Miro! You are Miro and you are of our people. Your name is Miro._ The voice grew stronger. Where it was once feeble, still hindered by some last remnants of Hydra’s influence, it was strong. Powerful. Composed of countless spirits, all speaking as one, guiding him. Showing him. Flashes of distant memories seared across his eyelids, memories of a boy, a young man. Him. 

Him. 

For he was a  _ him _ , not an  _ it,  _ because  _ he _ was a  _ person _ , not a weapon. 

Miro. 

Miro didn’t recognise the man the voice showed him, the life he lived. He had no connection to the memories, but he knew they were once his. Knew it in his soul. 

“Miro,” he whispered, opening his eyes wide, meeting Toni’s gaze. “I am Miro.”

He smiled, a shy, hesitant thing full of joy. His whole body trembled with it, with the ecstasy of finding himself. Toni smiled back, watching tears of joy trace the planes of his cheeks, a caress of comfort. A catharsis. “Hello, then, Miro. Hello.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Wardang,” it interrupted, “Corroboree, bardan, beerit, dardark, djooboorl djooboorl, doongkoorlanwornt, karla kurliny, kilee, nortj.” It’s tone was flat, empty. These were the words that had the ability to tear its mind apart and bury any scrap of humanity left within it. They made it soulless. It hated them. Hated them almost as much as it hated Hydra.
> 
> Okay, so:  
> Wardang: a crow  
> Corroboree: an Australian Aboriginal dance ceremony/ritual  
> Bardan: a person's spirit  
> Beerit: daylight (before dusk)  
> Dardark: a white clay used to paint the body (e.g. for a corroboree)  
> Djooboorl djooboorl: swim, swimming  
> Doongkoorlanwornt: fall down  
> Karla kurliny: going home  
> Kilee: boomerangs  
> Nortj: dead, deceased 
> 
> He is speaking the Noongar language (also spelt Nyoongar), the language of the Noongar people of Western Australia. His name, Miro, refers to a wooden spear thrower that is used to launch a gigjee. This fearsome spear was up to three metres long and tipped in quartz for maximum impact. 
> 
> If you guys want I'll add on why I chose those words later.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! It's completely unedited, so please forgive me if its a bit rough.


	5. Oh Dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is so late and so shit, I really am I've just had the worst writer's block ever. Also, it's really rough and unedited.

Toni had been told time after time by those closest to her that she was reckless and had no self-preservation instincts, the cause of which being her arrogance and narcissism.

Toni disagreed- she put a great deal of thought into every action she committed, every decision she made. Her mind just flew at a speed much, much greater than the average person, so to them, it seemed that she made baseless and reckless split-second decisions. They were, however, made after she calculated every risk, every possibility and ran through every option. This information was what she used when she made a ‘reckless’ decision. The others just didn’t understand. 

The decision to release Miro from the Hulk containment cell wasn’t any different. 

“Boss, I must insist-”

“It’s fine baby girl, I promise. Don’t worry,” she assured her AI as she guided the (ex?)assassin to a free bedroom on her floor (see? She’d thought this through- she was within quick access if anything went sour, and Friday could monitor him easily in the penthouse, and there were several suited stored on the floor since… since the Incident).

Miro seemed to hesitate before speaking up, his voice low and soft. Like velvet, if Toni were to be poetic about it. “If it would make your… friend more at ease, I-”

“No.” Her tone was firm and sharp. “It’s fine, you’ve not been aggressive towards me since you first tried to kill me, and I trust your promise that you won’t- you need my help after all- so you may as well stay in a room that’ll be more comfortable.” She met his gaze head-on. “You just proved that you’ve broken Hydra’s control on you, provided they don’t use the control commands of course, so don’t worry about it, okay?” Her face softened. “I’d feel bad if I kept you in a cell after that.”

He nodded, and Friday sent a flurry of static through the speakers that sounded suspiciously like a sigh. Toni smiled, small, but real, as they entered the room. “Bathroom’s there if you want to wash up, bed’s right there, obviously.” She pointed as she spoke. “Just leave your clothes here and I’ll dig some clean ones up for you that you can wear for now until we get you some new stuff.” She scrunched her nose as she gave him a once over, taking in his oily, ratty hair that hung limply over his shoulders, and his torn and filthy clothes. 

Miro nodded again, toeing off his shoes before tugging his shirt up over his head to reveal his scarred and bloody torso. Toni blinked, eyes snagging on a large burn scar over his collar bone that stretched across his right shoulder and down to his side. Must have been nasty to leave a scar that bad if he had a serum she assumed have him advanced healing. Unless he didn’t? She shook her head, the thought dissipating. Not important right now. 

She averted her gaze when he stepped out of his pants and stood, naked and unselfconscious.

Ignoring her attention, he stepped into the bathroom, and she soon heard the sound of running water. Picking up his clothes, she dumped them in the hallway, asking Friday to send a bot to collect and incinerate them. She usually kept the wardrobes stocked in all rooms, and luckily there were some sweats and a hoodie that would probably fit him. 

Placing them on the bed, she flopped down next to them, throwing an arm over her eyes. “How’s the Spiderling, Fri?” 

He'd called her after Siberia, angry and terrified, voice shaking until she managed to coax him into actually listening to her and understanding that she was alive, that she was  _ okay _ . 

Her heart ached at the memory. He was such a sweet boy, and she really didn't deserve him but she was selfish enough to hang onto him. 

She wasn't strong enough to let him go.

So she tried her best to be good enough, to earn the awe and respect he inexplicably gave her. The love. 

“He's good, Boss. Karen said he got in late from a patrol with a few bruises but nothing serious. He's sleeping right now, deep and calm. Left a message to ask how you were doing while you were sleeping. Would you like me to play it?”

Toni smiled. “Yeah, of course. Thanks, baby girl.”

“ _ Hey Friday, can you let Ms Stark know that I called? I worry about her. Is she doing okay?” _ Toni’s smile widened as his voice- so impossibly  _ young _ and innocent- filled the room.

“ _ Of course, Master Parker. She's currently sleeping, though she hasn't eaten for some time.”  _ Toni rolled her eyes at that, but couldn't help the fondness that wrapped around her heart. She closed her eyes.

“ _ Hmmm, I should drop by sometime. Make her take me out to grab food. Then she'll  _ have _ to eat.”  _ His laugh bubbled out of the speakers, coaxing out one of her own. Pepper used to do that, too. 

“ _ I believe Boss will be free after you finish school tomorrow. Perhaps then?” _

_ “Deal.” _

The recording ended, and Toni sighed. Just as she was about to ask Friday about Harley- who really have been furious and vengeful- when Miro stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped around his shoulders.

His gaze roamed around the room, looking tense. “Who was that?”

Toni lifted her head, keeping her eyes above that deliciously defined 8 pack. “Peter. It was just a recording, don't worry. He's not actually here.”

Miro nodded, a single drop of water falling down his cheek. “Okay.” His gaze moved to the clothes next to her. “For me?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, yawning. “Should fit.” She closed her eyes, unable to help it. The bed was just too damn soft. She didn't even register Miro taking the clothes and sliding into them. She was only jostled out of her half-asleep state when he lay down next to her.

“You're tired.” It wasn't a question, but she mumbled an affirmative anyway. “Sleep,” he urged, sounding amused. “I'll keep watch.”

Toni rolled on her side to face him, cracking open an eye. “Fine,” she grumbled. Maybe having someone with her again while she slept would keep the nightmares at bay. “But you're sleeping too.”

Miro chuckled softly. “Okay.” She felt him wriggle closer until his side was pressing against her front, a reassuring warmth that lulled her back into an easy, sleepy state as he started to hum. Loosing a breath, she focused on that warmth as she gave into the fatigue and allowed sleep to claim her.

* * *

“Steve, why the hell is T’Challa so pissed?”

Steve started as Clint’s voice dragged him from his thoughts. He'd been thinking of Toni, of the love they'd shared, and was more than a little irritated to be pulled back into reality. “What?” It came out harsher than he'd intended.

“Why is T'Challa pissed at us?” He drew it out, emphasising each word. 

Steve hesitated, eyes dropping to the floor of their suite. A large, comfortable- and very beautiful- accommodation for them.  _ Toni would love it, _ a small part of him thought. He could already imagine her designing a whole floor of the tower after the Wakandan style. “What makes you think he's mad at us?” he asked carefully.

“The fact that we heard him talking to the council about kicking us out of Wakanda seems to be a good indicator,” Clint hissed, furious. His regarded Steve sharply, hardening at what he saw. “What the  _ fuck _ did you do?”

“I didn’t  _ do _ anything to him!” Steve protested. 

“You fucking did  _ something _ , so you’d better  _ fucking _ apologise or I swear to  _ God _ , Steve.”

Steve scowled. “Drop it, Clint. He’s not going to do that, don’t worry. I’ll talk to him, just drop it, okay?” Shouldering past the smaller man, he strode towards the throne room where he figured his best bet at finding T’Challa was, seething. How  _ dare _ he kick them out? Leave them defenceless, at the hands of the US Government? They’d kill Bucky before accepting the truth.  _ Goddamnit! _ He was upset at the news about the attempt on Toni’s life, of course he was, and he was upset that she was so  _ stubborn _ and hadn’t listened to him. If she had, none of this would have happened.  _ Siberia _ wouldn’t have happened. 

It wasn’t his fault, it  _ wasn’t _ . 

T’Challa  _ had  _ to see that, had to see that they  _ needed _ Wakanda, as loathe as they were to admit it. Surely he wouldn’t be as cruel as to hand them over to the US, to  _ Toni _ . 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is so short I am so sorry, but I thought I'd just get it out there so I can actually make some progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so guess who hit a brick wall with this fic. Oops.
> 
> I'm sorry its ridiculously short, but hopefully it'll motivate me to write some more and upload another update in a timely manner lol.

“T’Challa!” 

T’Challa sighed wearily at the all-too familiar voice, glancing up at the Captain. “Can I help you?”

“Are you giving us up?” The Captain’s expression- all tight lips, a furious glaze to the eyes and a redness to the skin- was pure ire, and, he imagined, designed to cower its recipient. T’Challa, however, was no mere fool and was used to dealing with men like Rogers. 

_ Arrogant fool _ , his Panther hissed, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. 

T’Challa’s face betrayed nothing as he raised a single eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re asking me.” Unfortunately he had never mastered the art of keeping his voice level (Shuri always used it against him) and even he was aware of the emotion that bled into his tone. 

“Clint heard you discussing you handing us to the US.” 

T’Challa sighed, rubbing at his temples. Head-strong  _ fool _ . “Captain, do you always rush into situations without thinking them through?” Ignoring the man’s splutter, he continued, steepling his fingers and regarding him gravely. “I am not ‘handing you over’, no. You are, however, going to the United States within the next few weeks.” He held a hand up to silence the larger man (not that it worked). “Your pardons have been in the works for a while now, and are in the process of being finalised. Of course, you would know this if you  _ listened  _ to me or the news. Or, if you had  _ asked _ me, rather than confused. Your  _ friend _ would have overheard- a very unbecoming habit, I must add- my discussion with my council regarding your pardons, as they are eager for you to leave Wakanda.”

The man, fast becoming the bane of his existence, shot him a look dripping with disappointment and self-righteousness. “Why would they want you to hand us over? That’s not fair, we’d be prisoners!”

T’Challa ignored the urge to pull at his hair, instead meeting Rogers’ gaze head-on and sending his own disapproving glare. “Are you truly unaware of the danger you put Wakanda in by simply being here? And are you truly that ignorant? Because, if you are, it must be purposeful.”

Steve resisted the urge to scream, instead releasing a breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. “T’Challa, I assure you that any danger we have placed Wakanda in was not purposeful,” he chastised. “We-”

“You betrayed over a hundred countries, and think there would be no consequences. You truly believe that you have done nothing wrong, don’t you?”

Steve shook his head, adamant. “I acknowledge that there was collateral damage from our decisions, but I don’t think that-”

“Enough.” T’Challa’s snarl cut through Steve’s weak defence, leaving him spluttering in offence. “You will exit my country one way or another.  _ Do not test me _ , Captain Rogers. You  _ will _ find us evenly matched and that is not a road you want to go down.”

Steve glowered at T’Challa’s warning. “Yes, your majesty,” he managed, walking out, strides stiff and tense. 

_ Good riddance _ , his Panther huffed.  _ Too bad Stark has to deal with them _

Too bad, indeed. Too bad indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not to be a shameless self-promoter, but, uh, wanna check out my other fics while you're here? 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/18604045
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/1150505
> 
> Also, if you wanna yell at me on Tumblr (endgame cough cough) come find me: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/takeoffthesuitandimstarknaked

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, thanks for reading!! Means a lot :)


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